I’ve been struggling recently. Struggling to watch a friend on the other side of the world go through a hard time, and know I can’t do much to help, and if I did try to help, it would be rejected.
I worry about people. People I know. No matter if they are people from my real life, or from timbuktu, they are people. As much as the rational part of my brain might tell me that often the predicament people find themselves in is of their own doing, every other ounce of my being wants to disregard my head, and go with my heartwhich is invariably shouting “say hello at leastlet them know somebody was thinking of them, even if you can’t do anything”.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be independently wealthy, and travel the world putting things right where they have gone wrong. Lifting those who are low, dusting them down, and putting a smile on their face. The cynical part of me says that such help would be taken advantage of, and yet the dreamer contradicts it with “so what”.
Why do we continue to try and help people who either do not want our help or concern, will not appreciate it, or will flat-out disregard it?Perhaps because we care.